Memory Lane
by Lin'Dary
Summary: Clara has lived so many lives in so many places. What if she could remember them?
1. A Room With A View

**AN: Sometimes Clara tries to remember all the other soufflés that followed her recipe.**

The Doctor seemed to be asleep. That couldn't possibly be right. The Doctor never slept. He almost never even closed his eyes. Yet there he was, snoring softly in the chair beside his console. Clara couldn't blame him for it – it had been a very long day. The Doctor had rewritten the last four hundred years of his personal history, saved his planet from destruction, saved the Earth from hostile invasion, and met up with his old self twice. Most of that was pretty normal, but two planets saved in one day would tire anyone out!

So she let her friend sleep. She even found a blanket to cover him with, tucking him in all the way up to his enormous chin. He shifted slightly and mumbled something incomprehensible, and the girl held her breath. _Please, please don't wake him up… he needs this._ Those old eyes stayed shut, and the sound of deep breathing filled the silent console room. Clara let herself relax. Good. There would be more adventures waiting for them after he slept himself out. _I wonder what he dreams about…_

The TARDIS was strangely quiet without the Doctor's voice rambling on about the places they could go or the constant spin and click of console controls. Clara didn't mind too much though – the silence had a friendliness to it as well. The TARDIS seemed to have come to like her, which was a big improvement over where that relationship had started. Might have something to do with Clara saving the Doctor's timeline, or directing the very first Doctor to pick her instead of a different TARDIS. Without her, boy and his box would never have met. She grinned and patted the console, "Keep an eye on him, won't you, old friend?" The machine hummed quietly, and Clara was reminded of a cat purring. Or maybe a dragon.

She followed the railing down the stairs and into the corridors of the machine, letting her subconscious guide her feet rather than having any set plan. She didn't often get the chance to do this, but it was her favorite way to explore the TARDIS. Somehow she always found her way to exactly what she wanted, even if she wasn't sure what it was she wanted until she had arrived. Probably the TARDIS herself had more than a little to do with that. This time she walked past door after door after door, peaking in here and there at the wonders to be found, but venturing inside none. Finally after a long long while, the corridor ended with a doorway.

It was so unlike the bland metal doors that lined the rest of the long corridor that when Clara caught sight of it, she just stared for a few moments. An old wooden door, worn but well cared for, hung from polished metal hinges in a frame that was slightly too large, leaving gaps. Golden light poured out from the edges and through the small heart shaped hole carved out of the door at eye level. The scents of cinnamon and butter floated down the hallway towards her, and Clara could swear she heard birdsong.

This was the place she had been travelling towards, she knew. Stepping forward and taking hold of an ancient brass door knob, she pushed into the room. Immediately she was enveloped with warmth and a rush of memory as she stepped into the brightest, friendliest, most homely kitchen she had ever seen. A large wooden table with corners rounded down with use filled the center of the room, ringed with half a dozen mismatched chairs. Cupboards, shelves, and counters lined the three walls opposite her, interrupted only by the sink, stove-top oven, and the fridge. All these spaces were filled with cooking tools and spices, mixed in with cross-stitched poems and small wooden animals. The uncharitable might call the space cluttered or cramped. Clara though it was rather comfy. She half expected her grandmother to come bustling around the corner, stirring some great bowl that would be a delicious dinner in just another hour or so.

She stepped into the room, letting the door close. Turning to look behind her, she saw where the light was coming from. A pair of massive windows flanked the entrance, looking out over a sprawling field of red grass. A brilliant sun was setting in an orange sky behind the gently rolling hills. It was that magical hour where all the sun's rays turn from white to sleepy yellow like a droopy eyed child. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed over that incredible landscape.

Gallifrey.

She had seen the planet at its worst – war torn and dying. An entire race screaming as destruction came to silence their voices forever. This was another world entirely. Beautiful and strange and alive. So inexplicably alive. The wind through the tall grass was like a quiet voice telling her to run away, chase the sun, see over the horizon! No wonder the Time Lords had such an urge to explore, evolving on a world like this one. Clara opened the door, hoping that perhaps the TARDIS would shift something and allow her to find that field of crimson grain, but was faced by the hallway again. Leaving was not an option, not yet anyway, so she tried a window. Both were locked. Damn. Probably meant the scene through the windows was just a projection. She turned back to the kitchen.

A quick check of the pantries and fridge revealed a well-stocked kitchen, and more surprisingly most of it was recognizably from Earth. It occurred to her that perhaps the TARDIS filled the shelves with the current occupants in mind.

Clara stood back for a moment. She was hungry. The last thing she remembered having was that cup of tea she'd had with the three Doctors in the museum, and she's had nothing for several hours before that. How long was it since her last meal then?

Too long probably. She went for the apron she'd seen hanging from a hook beside the door and smiled when she discovered that it fit her perfectly. A bowl and a wooden spoon clattered as she set them onto a counter top, running to the fridge for eggs. Time for another soufflé.

The recipe was so ingrained in her memory, she didn't even have to think as she mixed ingredients and poured out the concoction into a pan. Instead Clara let her mind follow whatever line of thought suggested itself, wandering through the paths of her brain like her feet wandering through the corridors of the TARDIS.

Looking out over the expanse of red wilderness, Clara's thoughts meandered. She wondered if Gallifrey had had squirrels. Surely they must have had something akin to a squirrel at least – small furry woodland creature. She wondered what they might have looked like. What color would they have been? What about domestic animals? Did Gallifreyan children have pets of any kind? What would one have looked like? She resolved to ask the Doctor about it when he woke up. Perhaps it wouldn't be as painful now that he knew his home had not burned in the flames of the Moment.

A tiny voice in her mind, just behind her right ear, whispered that she didn't need to ask the Doctor. She had been to Gallifrey before – _did she not remember?_ — in fact she had lived there. A million fragments of her had scattered across the universe, and at least one had landed on that distant orange globe, arriving just in time to be in that garage of faulty TARDIS capsules and help him find his match.

_No, I can't remember. _All those sights she had seen and all the lives she had lived, and all she could recall was a few vague images. She had tried to retrieve those memories, if nothing else to help her understand the Doctor's past, but to no avail. Clara finished pouring the soufflé and slid it into the oven, brushing aside the thought. It annoyed her that it had been her greatest journey through time and space, and she could remember almost none of it.

_You can remember._

Clara froze. It was that voice again, and she had suddenly realized it was not her own. Telepathy? But who could it be? There was only she and the Doctor in the TARDIS, and the Doctor was asleep. Surely the shielding that protected them from the Vortex blocked a simple little telepathic message. So who could be speaking to her?

_I am the TARDIS. Normally I would be unable to communicate with you. You see, I exist in several more dimensions than you are capable of understanding, but this place is designed to compress a part of my consciousness, limiting me to the four dimensions of your perception and allowing me to speak to you. What do you think?_

This was weird. The TARDIS couldn't speak. That was just plain impossible, wasn't it? Was she going mad? Clara decided if she was going crazy, she might as well take it all the way and talk to herself out loud. "I don't understand most of what that means, but I think I get what the result is. Does the Doctor know about this place?"

_No. It think if I told him I would never get him out of here._

Clara laughed, "Yeah, you're probably right."She closed the oven door, then set a timer and took a seat at the table. "So why a kitchen?"

_I thought it was rather quaint, and a little ordinary is not always bad. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait for your soufflé to burn?_

"Hey!" Clara huffed at the empty room, secretly wishing there was someone there to scowl at.

_Sorry, comes with the territory when you talk to a being of pure time energy._

"Well since you offered, I would like some tea. And maybe some biscuits since my soufflé is going to be a failure. Again." She grimaced, but her face lifted as a cup of tea and a plate of snicker doodle cookies popped into existence in the center of the table, "Thank you."

_Not every soufflé you make ends up inedible. I can think of several that were delicious. Or maybe will be delicious?_

"Must be 'will'. The only soufflés I can remember being any good were the ones I made with my mother."

_Then again, you cannot remember most of your lives, so that does not mean much, does it?_

A twinge of annoyance made her frown. She grabbed a cookie and bit into it grumpily.

_Oh, that rubs you the wrong way, does it?_

"I told you, I can't remember! I've tried before, loads of times!"

_Puny human mind trying to access a great mystery of the universe without any telepathic training? Like trying to swim to the bottom of the ocean in just your bathing suit._

"Puny human mind!? Get that from the Doctor, did you? You know, I'm pretty tired of Time Lords and their machines dissing humans. We may not have brains the size of planets, but that doesn't make us incompetent or –"

_I can help you remember._

A swirl of emotions flooded Clara. A long moment passed. The oven hummed in its heating coils. A bird chirped outside the virtual windows. Something very like a wind chime tinkled as a breeze swept along the grass. Still she said nothing, until finally:

"How?"

_Easy answer? I can guide you and protect your mind from an overload. To continue the diving analogy, I can be your submarine._

Immediately, the well-known Beetle's song jumped into Clara's mind, and she pictured the TARDIS as a little cartoon boat, the Doctor's face pressed against a window as he peered eagerly into the surrounding waters. She giggled.

_What? No, stop that! I am NOT a tiny yellow submarine! I am BLUE, and a police box, thanks very much, and I have NO intention of ever changing that._

"I thought you got stuck as a police box because the chameleon circuit busted?"

_I know. I like to let my thief believe that._

Clara smiled faintly, then let quietness prevail for another moment.

_Well?_

The woman took a deep, steadying breath before replying, "Let's try it."

_Good! Prepare for dive. Prepare for dive!_

"Are you sure you don't secretly wish you were a submarine?"

_Shut up._


	2. A Hallway Between Lives

**AN: I have some followers! Very exciting! Thank you BSwifty1997 for the review. I'm excited for this story too! I don't promise scheduled updates. Life is not so organized as all that. I describe the school for part of this scene, but I honestly could not remember some of the details of its appearance, so I made them up. I like the way my version sounds though.**

**So the BBC owns Doctor Who. But who owns the BBC?**

The birds sang outside the holographic windows. Their voices were familiar to Clara's terrestrial ears, but their melodies were indescribably alien. Gallifreyan avian life. She wondered if they even looked like Earth birds. It sent bright shudders down her spine to think that in some other life, these strange songs and their singers had been more commonplace to her than robins and blue jays.

She still sat at the worn table, clutching her cup of tea. A churning mass of excitement filled the pit of her stomach, far more violent than any butterflies. She took a few breaths in an effort to steady herself.

"So how do we do this?" Clara spoke aloud to the empty room, her eyes locked on the fiery landscape beyond the window.

_Simply. Close your eyes._

Clara obeyed. It was strange though. With her eyes shut tight, she still saw the kitchen, in a way. Like a hazy afterimage of colorful smoky outlines traced across her eyelids, she could make out the vague shapes of familiar objects. She directed her weird smoke gaze to her own hands, holding them out to examine them. Purple and blue swirls of blurry light that slowly shifted through green and yellow outlined what she supposed were her fingers and palms. Clara began to shake. Something had to be very wrong here. The possibility of her own insanity crept back into the corner of her brain.

"What is this?"

_Welcome to your mind's eye._

"What? How is that -"

_The mind's eye is the place where you visualize ideas and images. If you aren't actively imagining any particular thing, it usually just contains this sort of vague awareness of whatever space you happen to occupy. That is what you are seeing._

"But I'm not supposed to actually see what I imagine, it's just in my brain! How can I be seeing this?" Clara waved her hand at the ghostly mirage of the kitchen, her movement leaving the now orange and red smoke trailing in arcs across the air.

_I am sending the signals of the imagery directly to your visual processing centers, instead of letting them wander around your grey matter like lost puzzle pieces._

"So you are playing doctor with my brain right now. Great!"

_Don't panic, it's not permanent and it will have no lasting side effects. Once I let the signals go back to their original directionless wandering, it will be like nothing happened._

"But now there are two conflicting signals coming into my brain at once. What happens if I open my eyes? Let the other signal come through?"

_Why don't you try it? _

Clara bit her lip, then cracked her eyes open ever so slowly. The smoke trails remained, superimposed over the real objects they represented.

"Wow."

_Your brain processes both at once. Interesting. Just so you know, I will be redirecting signals for your other senses as we go deeper, but probably just gradually. For now, close your eyes again._

The normal kitchen disappeared as her eyelids dropped, leaving her with just the ghost outline of the space. "Why can't I keep my eyes open?"

_It will start to get confusing when you visualize something other than this room. Now, imagine a long hallway lined with doors._

Clara began to form the image, and the rainbow trails of glowing mist danced through the air, abandoning their forms to take the shapes of doors, knobs, floor, walls, and ceiling. The new picture pulsed with shifting colors, still hazy from its recent creation.

_Good! But the more detail you add, the easier this will be._

She wasn't entirely sure what "this" referred to, but Clara decided not to question the powerful telepathic being with psychic powers currently controlling the basic functions of her brain. She pictured the hallways at her school. There were long lines of thick metal doors painted a dark green. Along the left hand wall, the doors had large glass windows installed above them, reaching from the top of the door to the tall ceiling, which let rays of late afternoon sun drench the space. Smooth walls painted a creamy caramel brown stretched into the distance. The floor was a mosaic of white and brown tiles. As she added details from her memory to the image, the shadowy outline behind her eyelids was filled out, spreading in swirls of color like watercolor paints across a primed canvas, darkening with each stroke of her mental brush.

At last the hallway was complete, and Clara felt as though she were gazing at a photograph of her school. Actually, even in its completed state, the mental image didn't quite seem real. There was a roughness around the edges that reminded Clara of a sketch or drawing, or perhaps a dream.

_Not bad for your first time. Smart to pick something familiar to you._

"Thanks! But why did you have me do this?"

_Imagine that this is your memory. Behind any door, you will find and experience a memory sequence. Some sequences are more familiar to you than others. Some sequences are less pleasant than others. They are all your memories, however._

"But there are so many doors here!"

_Yes. You have had many memories, even just in the one life you know of now._

"So how do I know which one to enter? Do I just start opening doors?"

_No, don't be silly. That's what you've been doing. This time, you will have help._

Something pulled at her skirt, and Clara looked down. She couldn't see anything that would have caused the tugging, however she realized that she was standing inside the imagined hallway instead of sitting in the kitchen, even though she could still feel the chair beneath her and the mug of tea between her hands. But how was that -? Her reaction was to blink in surprise, but she just ended up briefly scrunching her eyes tightly shut since, of course, they were already closed. Immediately she felt foolish.

"I picture myself inside the hallway, so I am."

_That's right. Good catch__._

"I'm impressed." A voice spoke from behind Clara, and she jumped, turning to face the source. A young girl stood in the center of the hallway, just inches away. The child, no more than 7 or 8, appeared to be anatomically identical to a human girl. However, her skin was not any natural shade of brown and pink – it was a deep blue, and her eyes glowed like golden trails of regeneration energy, or more probably, the heart of the TARDIS.

"What do you think?" the girl spun around, making her standard issue school uniform skirt swirl around her knees. "I'm projecting an image of myself onto your brain, but normally I don't have much of a corporeal form, so I made this up. I think it will be easier to help you this way. Physical guides are more reliable. Probably."

"Um, actually it's a little unsettling. Do you think you could make the eyes less – glowy?"

TARDIS girl pouted, "But I really like the eyes! Rose got to have them! Before she nearly destroyed the universe…" She had started staring into the middle distance, recalling something, but now she glanced back at Clara; "I'll change them if it'll help."

Immediately the light dissipated, leaving the TARDIS with golden irises. She blinked. "Oh, well now I look like one of those little aliens from Platform One! That was an interesting day. The Doctor got a parking ticket for me." The girl giggled, and the sound reminded Clara more of the wheezing of the engines at take-off than a human voice.

"Why did you choose to be a child?"

The girl locked eyes with Clara, and her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, Clara was lost in that gaze. She had thought the Doctor's eyes were old. She had been so very wrong. These eyes were as ageless as the universe, their owner having seen all of time stretched out before and behind her from the moment of her conception like a tapestry of stars, space, planets, people, beginnings and endings. For one stuttering heartbeat, Clara could almost see it too.

_The universe is massive and full of wonder. Who would not choose to see it with the awe of a child?_

The TARDIS girl clapped her hands, swiftly cutting the tension between them like a rubber band; "So! Back to the adventure at hand. I've never really gotten to go on the adventures before. Except that one time, I suppose, but still! This should be fun!"

Clara shook the moment off with more difficulty, but managed to give the strange blue child a smile, "Ok, where do we begin?"

"At the beginning, of course. Come on!" she reached out, beckoning Clara follow. The young woman did so, slipping her hand into her guide's much smaller blue hand. The pair began walking down the hallway, passing by dozens of identical doors as they traveled farther into the limitless corridor. After what felt like mere minutes, they had passed more doors than Clara would have believed if she hadn't given up counting after 500.

"How are we going so fast?" she asked before a second thought occurred to her, "And am I wandering around the TARDIS back in reality?!"

The child scoffed, "No, of course not, silly! The farther you engross yourself into your mind's eye and the more I connect your senses to it, the more you can control this place and the less you are aware of the outside world. At some point, you stop consciously controlling your body. You haven't physically moved since you tried to blink earlier," she snickered a bit, glancing up at Clara, "That was pretty funny, actually." Clara just raised an eyebrow at her, which only made the TARDIS girl laugh harder. A few deep breaths later, she had found her composure once again, "Anyway, we can walk so fast because you believe we can. We could fly if you decided and imagined it."

"Really?"

The girl shrugged, "It's your mind."

Clara thought about that as they continued to walk. She could do anything here. Any image she imagined could appear. Literally anything… A thought suggested itself to her, pushing out from the back of her mind. What about…? But she quickly stuffed that idea back into her subconscious. Not with the TARDIS also here. That would just be embarrassing.

"Ah ha! Here we go!" her hand was suddenly abandoned as the girl bounced excitedly up to a door just a little ways ahead. Someone had painted a large red X over the green, and what might have been a name was outlined below it in the same color:

_OS_

_The Maker_

Above the X, a small note had been written in a child's handwriting:

_Note to self – start here!_

_-Love, TARDIS_

_PS – Have fun!_

Clara threw a quizzical look at the little girl next to her, who just shrugged. "I already know where it was, but needed some way to find it again. There is a lot of hallway here!" The young woman rolled her eyes, but smiled briefly. Then she squared her shoulders and touched the door knob. It seemed to hum under her hand, and she swallowed, suddenly nervous. What was she going to find on the other side? Was she really ready for this? Another glance to her small companion revealed that she was grinning enormously, excitement radiating off her in waves. It was infectious, and Clara soon found a matching expression spreading across her face, chasing away her doubt. "Ready?"

"Always! Just open the door!"

"Ok. 3… 2… 1…"

The knob twisted easily, and Clara stepped forward into an explosion of light.


	3. Familiar Rebirth

**AN: Thank you for bearing with me through set up. Now we can get to the good stuff. **

**Reviewers are like angels – both kinds. They are lovely when they arrive and bless your writing, and they only move when you aren't looking. I'll shut my eyes, promise.**

_A newborn cries out for the first time. The world is a blurry, icky mess. Too bright for eyes so young, and too noisy. Voices that were always muffled before have found focus, and that's scary and loud. The air feels wrong. It doesn't support floating the way the warm fluid that was home for so long did. Her body is so heavy without the buoyancy of all that water. And what's this? An unfamiliar sensation of a foreign object coming in contact with skin! Nothing ever touches her skin, unless she accidentally brushes against the walls of her mother's stomach or her cord. This is outrageous! Why did she ever want to come out of the safety of her mother's belly in the first place? The world is a terrible place! She wants to return to the dark and muted comfort of the womb. She cries and cries and cries and can she please just go home – but this is new. She is wrapped in something so soft and warm and supported by strong arms. That's not so bad really. She could get used to this. A familiar voice murmurs in soothing tones something musical and calming. Her mother, of course. She is safe here, she knows. Somehow she is sure of it. The voice whispers something in her tiny ear, "Welcome to the universe, Os."_

Clara stumbled, the movement carrying her forward. There was a loud slurping like the sound of boots pulling out of thick mud, and she felt like she was rushing towards the surface of a deep pool, the roar of water filling her ears, building into a deafening crescendo. Suddenly she heard a pop, and she hit the floor on hands and knees. Her vision cleared, and she looked up.

"What the hell was that?"

A pair of small black flats walked around to stand in front of her, "I would imagine that was a memory. You walked straight into the bubble when you opened the door." A blue hand reached down to help her stand up. Clara took it gratefully, finding her feet again before taking in her surroundings.

The room they had entered was gigantic, practically a grand hall or old fashioned throne room in size. In appearance, however, it was far from that. The floor was a dazzling white, and was in fact the only source of light for the space. It was bright enough that it could have easily defined and illuminated the far corners of the room. It would have if the walls and ceiling were not such an intense shade of black. They practically pulsed with their chosen hue; the color itself seemed to consume the light around it. The darkness was so complete, in fact, that Clara wasn't positive there were walls at all – the floor might have just been a platform hanging out over a void.

Drifting around the room like so many dancers at a ball were colorfully undulating bubbles of light. They looked a bit like reject crystal balls. Instead of being clear like well refined glass, they were murky and full of imperfections that caused the images inside of them to blur out of focus. This was when Clara realized the orbs held moving representations of different events. Different memories? Probably. She turned to look at the way she had come. Just in front of the door, one of the bubbles hung at just about eye level. Almost as if it had been waiting for her by the door like a faithful pet. She smirked at the thought, then started to turn back when –

"Look out on your left!"

There was a sound like a stone dropping into thick soup, a rush of water like falling into a lake, and a growing crescendo of noise, until

_She is five years old. Her father holds her hand tightly. It hurts, but she knows he doesn't mean it, and she's squeezing his hand just as tightly. She is so excited. Mummy promised to bring her back something really great this time to make up for being gone so long. A full three days! She can hardly believe she hasn't seen her mother in three days. They have been the longest three days of all her five years of life, but any moment now her mother will appear in her TARDIS, just like she promised. Os is not sure why, with a time machine, Mummy can't just leave and come back two seconds after she left, but apparently there are some very grown up rules about TARDIS travel which mean she can't._

_Suddenly the air begins to swirl around them, and a silver cylinder begins to blink in and out of existence a few feet in front of Os and her father. She tugs excitedly on his hand, and he grins down at her. He glances at his watch, "Perfectly on time, as always!"_

_They walk towards the familiar TARDIS. Os is ready to run into her mother's arms the moment she catches sight of her. She wonders why Mummy is still inside her ship. Usually she leaps out as soon as she lands, sweeping her daughter into a big, safe hug as her very first homecoming present._

_The door slides open, and an unfamiliar man steps tentatively out from the ship. He seems nervous. Os is confused. Did Mummy bring a friend home?_

_The stranger approaches her father, slowly, like he isn't sure if he should. She looks up at her father. He has let go of her hand. She is glad of this because his hands are balled into fists. His face has paled drastically, and his jaw is clenched tightly shut. Os can see his lower lip quivering. Fear? It makes her nervous to see him this way. It makes her distrust this stranger almost instantly. Why did Mummy bring this man home if Daddy doesn't like him?_

_The strange man leans in close to her father and whispers something into his ear. Her father closes his eyes as a single tear runs down his cheek. His next breath seems to cause him physical pain, but he does take it and open his eyes. Now it is the other man who looks frightened. Os is very confused, and wants to know what the man said. She is more confused when her father cracks a smile for the other man and pulls him into a bear hug. Relief washes across the stranger's face as he accepts the hug, and when they separate, they are both crying, but also smiling. Her father kisses the man's forehead, just like he kisses Mummy sometimes. Os does not understand anything of what is happening, and is beginning to grow impatient. She pulls on Daddy's robe, "Where's Mummy?"_

_Her father glances down at her, then to the other man. He takes a deep breath, as if getting ready to jump into a pool of water. Kneeling, he pulls his daughter into a hug before turning her to face the newcomer, who is also kneeling now. He begins murmuring to her._

"_Sweet, do you know how only you, your mother, and I know your real name, and only you can tell anyone else?"_

_Os nods. Of course she knew that._

"_Well, there is a very good reason for that. You see, sometimes the people we care about change. Sometimes we don't recognize them by the way they look because they are so different. So we tell our loved ones our names so when they change, they can tell us and we will know who they are. There are other ways to know, but some of them you won't be able to use until you are a little older. Do you understand?"_

_Os nods, "Like Rassilon in my story book."_

"_Exactly. But it's not just in your storybook, darling. Sometimes we, as Time Lords, go through a change called regeneration when our lives are in danger, and we come out looking very different."_

_At last the other man speaks, "But we are still the people we were before at the very core of us. And we care just as much for our loved ones."_

_Os nods again. Yes, she understands this well enough. She isn't entirely sure why the information is important right now, but she understands._

_The other man meets her gaze and holds it. "Your name is Os. I promised you I would bring back something really great this time. Do you want to see what it is?"_

_Os simply stares at the strange man for a moment until the pieces of the puzzle finally snap into place. This man is her mother, regenerated. She understands that fact, but it is difficult to wrap her head around it. Os stares deeply into the man's eyes, suspicious despite the long explanation from her father. This stranger? Her mother? No, that was ridiculous. Her mother had always been so soft. This man looked much harder, and sharper in a way._

_Then she catches sight of something hiding inside his iris. It is something so familiar to her, something she is instinctually tuned to. There is a pattern, a signature of sorts imprinted on the soul of each Time Lord and Lady. They carry with them a small portion of the Time Vortex itself, unchanged and untouched by death or rebirth. This is what allows Time Lords of different regenerations to recognize friends and enemies with a new face. Os had seen the signature in her mother's eyes, and she saw it here in the eyes of this stranger. An inborn Gallifreyan instinct took over at the realization. It was alright. Of course it was alright. All of the tension and worry flooded away from her as she smiled and flung her arms around the familiar stranger, "Mum!"_

The world came rushing back in a haze of colors distorted through glass and a thunderous rumbling. With a _shluuuur-pop!_ she snapped back into the room. The memory that had just snuck up on her continued floating away to her right, unhindered by its passage through her head. The TARDIS giggled, "That was so weird. It jello-ed around your head!"

Clara struggled to regain her sense of the present setting (which was, of course, entirely in her head to begin with. That wasn't helping her ability to grasp her pseudo-reality.) Somehow she managed to steady herself enough to raise a playfully scornful eyebrow at her companion, "Jello-ed?"

A bright red tongue stuck out at her indignantly from between blue lips, but it was followed by a flash of white teeth, "It's a perfectly valid verbification."

"Verbification? You are an eight year old – most highschool students don't know that term!"

"Your point is?"

"You are too smart for your own good." The pair grinned at one another, then the TARDIS flicked her eyes behind Clara; "Duck."

She crouched down quickly and watched the bright orb pass over her head at a leisurely pace, like a blimp over a crowded stadium. When at last it had cleared her, she straightened, keeping an eye out for more colorful globes approaching her position.

Clara shook her head, "This isn't going to work. I don't want ninja thought clouds assaulting me at random. I need some order to this."

Before her sentence had even ended, the orbs in the room seemed to grow agitated, darting about more quickly than before. A thought for their organization occurred to her, and instantly the orbs moved – whizzing across the room. Now they hung above them in the vast darkness like a rolling, churning cloud. In the center of the room, a white pedestal rose out of the floor, flowing upwards in a slick motion. A keyboard morphed out of its smooth surface. Something very much like a search box appeared in the air above this newest addition to the room - a white cursor blinked inside a long box, clearly awaiting input

A satisfied little smile twitched her lips upward. That was more like it. The little girl beside her didn't seem to agree. She pouted, "But they are boring now! It was cool when they were just floating around."

"Yeah, well you weren't the one getting attacked by memories without warning." Clara approached the keyboard, mulling over what to type into the search bar.

"I see whatever you see, Clara." When she bristled at that, the girl quickly added, "I'm not being nosy, but I AM inside your head. It's hard to avoid. Besides, I am an eternal, nigh-omniscient super being. I already know most of this. Experiencing it all firsthand is what appeals to me."

"Since you know so much, miss omniscient, why don't you give me some idea of what to search for?" Clara had intended the comment to be teasing, but the girl looked genuinely thoughtful. Finally she turned to the keyboard. She had to stand on tiptoes and peer over the edge of the pedestal to see where her fingers were on the keys. Slowly words revealed themselves in the text box:

NAME CEREMONY

The little blue hands dropped back down to her sides, and she looked up at Clara. "On Gallifrey, the name you choose is a promise you make. Let's find out what your promise was."


	4. What's In A Name

**AN: Hello! There aren't any GOOD reasons for why it has been so long since I wrote for this story, just a bunch of mediocre ones, so I will just apologize profusely and get on with it if you don't mind. I hope you are all still interested in reading this… **

**Feel free to write me angry comments on why I am a terrible person for leaving you high and dry, and just leave a review of the chapter while you are down there, ok? Great!**

**Thanks to all of the people who have already reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. You are wonderful!**

Clara pressed enter on the keyboard, and four of the colorful bubbles descended from the glowing, pulsing cloud to hover in a circle around her and the TARDIS child. For the first time, she noticed that the orbs came in a variety of sizes – one of them was approximately the size of her entire torso, while the one next to it was no bigger than her fist.

"So that was a keyword search, yeah?" Clara asked. The TARDIS shrugged, "You tell me, it's your head!"

"Fair enough. Anyway, that means I should be able to sort the results." The orbs shifted, forming a line beside her. She smiled "Here we go! Chronologically!" The smallest of the orbs was first, shimmering brightly with the light of the memory it contained. Clara reached out to grab it out of the air, but found that she couldn't move it once she had it. Instead it hummed and moved, pressing and rubbing against her hand. It almost reminded her of a cat! She jumped back, "What the hell is it doing?"

TARDIS girl laughed again with the sound of an engine, "I guess memories like to be revisited. You're the one whose subconscious turned its reaction into purring!"

"But that's just weird! It's a memory, it shouldn't purr! Why would I do that?"

"You are a little strange in the head, and apparently at odds with your subconscious?"

"Hey! Am not!" Clara snapped, a little miffed.

"You're the one who was just freaked out by your own mental image…" The TARDIS sniffed, and started examining her fingernails with aloof boredom, "So are we going to see these memories or what?"

Clara grimaced, "You know you are an awfully cheeky eight year old." The girl did not respond to that, just stared interestedly at her fingernails, focusing on one cuticle in particular. Frowning even more, Clara turned back to the bright memories. Ok, if they were going to react, maybe they could just do that instead… She reached out for the first memory again, and it glowed more brightly at her touch. The memory was warm in her hand, and just a little malleable. It seemed to be made from some kind of clear gel with images captured inside like amber, except there was clearly movement. She pulled it from the line and brought it gently to her forehead. The instant it made contact, she felt herself rushing through water and that roar growing steadily louder until suddenly –

_Os is 9 years old, and she doesn't really want to be here. _

_She'd wanted to have her friends Kappa, Lambda, and Mu over for a sleep over, but her father and mother had insisted that they both had to be at this event, and that there was no way she was going to have friends over without them home, "Iota, you can have your friends over tomorrow night," her mother had told her as he sipped calmly at a warm beverage and read the morning paper, "but we have been asked to speak at the ceremony, and that is a great honor!" He used her school name, as he usually did to avoid using and letting slip her real name. Os understood the necessity of it for school, but it had weirded her out the first time it was used at home. "Even if it wasn't, neither your father nor I would consider canceling so last minute just so our daughter can have some friends over. It's your summer break – you will have time to see them!"_

_But Os is still unhappy that she has to sit through this. She has to watch while every member of a whole graduating class of university students declares to society what their chosen names will be. How boring is that! It might mean more to her if she thought she would ever meet these people again, but really… she doubts it. She wishes she'd been allowed to at least bring a book. Instead she sits there near the back of the auditorium in the balcony, twiddling her thumbs and waiting for the slow torture to end. Stupid name ceremony…_

_One name catches her attention, though she can't explain why. _

_It is not the strangest name of the day, or the longest or most flowery. It is not the only 'title only' name, either, but when she hears it she sits upright a little more and stares down from her balcony seat at the stranger._

_He is approximately 30 years old, like most of the graduates. His eyes are sharp with intelligence, and he carries himself with a sobriety that strikes Os as somehow… misplaced._

"_The Doctor" he says, "My name is The Doctor." _

The world blurred, rushing past her in streaks of light and there was a waterfall pounding on her eardrums, louder and louder until there was short _pop! _and she was suddenly back, holding the glowing orb in the palm of her hand.

"Huh. So you were at his name ceremony. And you felt drawn to him, even then. Interesting…" Clara looked down to see the TARDIS frowning thoughtfully, tapping a small blue finger against her chin. Then she grinned, white flashing against dark blue, "Apparently I'm not the only one here who was an impudent child, either."

It was Clara's turn to sniff, "I don't know what you could possibly mean! I was an angel." She tossed the memory up, watching it float up to join the other bubbles.

"Actually you were – but that was another life."

That brought Clara up short, "What? As in an actual –" the TARDIS interrupted her, "We'll get to that one later. For now, let's see the rest of these."

The woman stared suspiciously at her companion, then shook herself and reached for the next glowing bubble. This one was about the size of her head, and she had to handle it with both hands. The feeling of entering the memory was becoming almost familiar now, and with a sensation of falling through water, she was there.

_Iota sits at a desk in a vast lecture hall. She has become used to thinking of herself in her school name – after 10 years of being called by it, it almost seems more real than her birth name some days. She will never forget that she is Os, but even saying it out loud to herself feels alien. She is 18 now, and just starting university. _

_Today she is sitting in Gallifreyan History 101. A seriously difficult class in many ways. Being a time travelling society means things can change, and people born in later chapters of the textbook tend to arrive in early chapters without a whole lot of reference to who they are or what they are doing there. One guy in particular ends up showing up in almost every chapter inexplicably, driving a faulty TARDIS and creating chaos. He doesn't have a name in the textbook, just a random designation MMWAB, which frustrates Iota to no end. He is probably the most interesting part of many of the stories. Besides that, he saves the day more often than not, and she can't understand why such a hero isn't given recognition._

_The one time she asked her professor about it, he told her it was probably because history books had not yet caught up with the time period of his birth. "Probably MMWAB is born many centuries from now, but it is possible that he is alive right now, and when the next edition is written it will include his name at last. I really don't know." As a habit, Gallifreyan historians leave out names of people yet to be born from textbooks to avoid young Time Lords trying to pick names to match a future that might turn out not to be theirs. _

_Which, oddly enough, brings her back to the lecture she is supposed to be paying attention to. The words 'NAME CEREMONY – DECIDING YOUR PURPOSE' are scrawled across the large viewing screen at the front of the room in her professor's handwriting. Sighing, she finally tunes into what he is saying:_

"… _can be anything you want, pulled from any language or culture, as long as in the end it means something to you. The name you choose should outline to you what kind of life you want lead. Do you want to go into government? Choose something that reminds you of that, and what you intend to do once in power. Your name should help you remember everything you are and everything you want to be. And DON'T choose something frivolous – getting a name legally changed is a hassle. I knew someone who came to the ceremony drunk and was stuck as 'MyTardisIsFat' for the next five years."_

_That makes everyone in the class start to giggle, then outright laugh for a solid minute. Even the professor cracks a smile before gesturing for everyone to quiet down._

"_I know you all probably think it's a little early to be considering your naming ceremonies, but I recommend that you put some time into thinking about it, even now. At least get the wheels turning. What is your purpose? Who do you want to be?"_

_He lets his questions linger in silence for a moment, blanketing the lecture hall, until some idiot sitting in the back of the class calls out "MyTardisIsFat!" and the laughter erupts again. The professor shakes his head, "Very funny, Rho-Tau. Now, the very first name ceremony was instituted by the Other in the year…"_

_Iota tunes him out again, too focused on his questions to listen. What did she want to do with her life? What purpose was she being called to?_

_The thought comes to her, an idea so strong it is almost a physical force on her mind. She is meant to create something. Something massive and unspeakably important. And her creation will touch billions of lives, reaching out to millions of distant suns. It will start so simply, though, and she will be needed. She will make the history she is reading about – it cannot happen without her. She is The Maker._

The sensations of rushing water and a loud pop later, Clara was back, blinking away a wave of dizziness.

"That was such an intense feeling. I was so _certain_, and it came out of nowhere! What do you think it was?" Clara asked. The TARDIS took a moment before responding, and Clara noticed that she looked a little woozy too. So she hadn't been the only one affected.

"Uh… Best guess? That was your united consciousness within the Doctor's timeline reaching out to nudge you in the correct direction. Shove might be a better word – you were less than delicate." The TARDIS girl rubbed her forehead, still clearly a little off balance. Clara felt a flutter of worry, even though she knew it was probably foolish to feel worry over an omnipotent being. In response to her concern, however, the floor shifted, and a column of light rose from it to form a pair of comfortable looking chairs the same way the pedestal had appeared. Clara pushed the memory back towards to the ceiling and sat in a chair, gesturing to the other, "Sit for a minute, would you?" The girl nodded, her eyes closing, "Yeah, good idea. I'm not used to being the one getting thoughts put in my head. It's quite the experience!"

She settled into the chair, curling her legs up under her and leaning back against it gratefully. Then she opened one eye to peer at Clara. "Just cause I'm sitting doesn't mean you should stop! Come on, next memory!" she demanded, then stuck out her tongue playfully. Clara laughed, then nodded, "Yes, of course, your majesty! Whatever you desire!"

"Shut it."

The next memory was about the same size as the last, and Clara took the glowing orb almost reverently, tapping it against her forehead. Speeding sound and light until –

_Iota is 30 years old, and today is the day she will become who she is meant to be. She will no longer be Iota. A small part of her wonders if she will miss the name. She's lived with it for so long now… No. She doesn't think she will. Her new name is the one meant for her._

_She stands in a long line of other graduates, including her childhood friends Kappa, Lambda, and Mu. The three of them stand behind her in line, grinning at her and each other. They became friends all those years ago because they had been standing next to each other as they were given their school designations. It seems so fitting that they should be together again now that they are giving up those names for the identities they plan to have for the rest of time._

_Looking out over the audience, Iota can see her parents sitting a couple rows back from the front. Her parents have changed quite a bit since she was nine years old and pouting about being dragged to a name ceremony. For one thing, her father regenerated a few years ago after a particularly bad accident and came out looking around 20 years old. It was strange to have a parent look younger than herself, but she really liked to tease him about being the baby of the family. Her mother has changed as well – he is much older now. He's been thinking about voluntarily regenerating now that his husband is physically so much younger than him, but of course regeneration is a lottery, so he's a bit hesitant. _

_Both of them are grinning today, and they wave at her. She smiles, but doesn't wave back out of respect for Epsilon, who is currently running through her spiel. Just four more students, then it would be her turn._

_Three more…_

_Two…_

_One…_

_And suddenly she is ascending to the podium, turning to face the audience. Iota puts her hand over the glowing crystal set into the otherwise smooth surface of the podium, as all the graduates had done. Her body is tingling with her excitement, so she takes a deep breath to steady herself. Then she began the speech that all graduates had learned since the very first name ceremony:_

"_My name is Iota. _

_Today I cast off this name to take my place as a Time Lord, taking a new name of my choosing._

_The Maker. My name is The Maker."_

Clara was pulled from the memory smiling, reliving the excitement and pride she had felt on that day. The TARDIS was smiling too, "That is so cool! I've often wondered what it felt like for my thief the day he chose his name, but I never imagined it feeling so intense! Do people always feel like that? So much emotion, it was like I was going to explode!" She jumped up on her chair, throwing her hands in the air excitedly to accentuate her point. Clara laughed, "No, not all the time – just on the good days."

Pushing up on the bubble gently, returning the memory returned to the cloud, Clara thought for a moment. The last memory was the largest. But she already knew what her promise had been, and she'd seen her name ceremony. What else could there be?

"Well come on! We've only got the one more to go!" She was excited, and it was making her impatient.

"I know, I know, just give me a minute…"

The orb hung in the air in front of her, glowing softly. This one made her nervous, though she couldn't have explained to anyone why. A flickering of moving images and colors emanated from within it, and Clara tried to make something out to give her some idea of what could be contained within. "What could you be…" the woman mused to herself. The girl sitting across from her scoffed, "The only way to know that is to go in, silly! Come on," and Clara was surprised as the little blue girl climbed up into her lap, "don't worry. I'll help you out."

She was surprisingly warm, and Clara couldn't help herself from wrapping her arms around the child and hugging her close, "Thank you."

"No problem! Now…" the child situated herself sitting on Clara's lap, facing the bubble. She reached out with both of her small arms, pulling it closer, "let's see what happens next…"

Clara closed her eyes as the orb touched her forehead, the rush of light and sound ushering her into another memory.

**AN: I looked up an etymology of names, specifically for Oswin and Oswald. The site I went to claimed that Oswin and Oswald share a common element – os, coming from the old English meaning God. Specifically Oswin is God's Friend, and Oswald is God's Ruler. For the record, Clara means clear or bright.**

**I bring this up because this is how I decided on her Gallifreyan title – in several religions, God is the Great Maker, and Clara gets to make something pretty important.**

**But it makes me wonder if Moffat chose her names for a reason…**

**Bonus points if you can guess how I came up with the Doctor's "random" designation in the history books!**


	5. A Memory of Creation

The Maker wakes up. She stretches and yawns, then rolls over to look at the clock. 6:25? Her alarm doesn't go off for another five minutes. Oh good! She snuggles more deeply into her blanket, closing her eyes tight. Something won't let her sleep, though, which is weird because normally she can doze off very easily if she wants to. Not today.

After tossing and turning restlessly for a minute, she gives up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and standing up. Today is a big day for her, so a few minutes head start won't hurt. Wait, why is it a big day? The Maker thinks through her agenda – nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind. There is a hard pit in her stomach though, a knot she can't explain that insists that today is incredibly important. It's exciting, but also more than a little unnerving. Where is this coming from?

The Time Lady pushes the knot aside as best she can, her awareness of it occupying a tiny, distant corner of her mind, and sets about getting ready for work.

An hour later, she is washed, dressed, and eating breakfast in the small kitchen of her apartment. She is examining a small device in the palm of her hand, absorbing the morning news, weather forecasts and the like from it telepathically. It works a bit like a radio, but exclusively for psychic messages. There is talk about some political stuff she isn't very interested in, a competition going on next week for a sport she does not play, and an announcement of two fugitives currently being hunted by government authorities. Nothing that seems to explain the weird sensation of destiny in her gut. The Maker is about to shut down the device – it is almost time for her to go – when she catches the name of the fugitive. She focuses in on the broadcast:

_Authorities are searching for a man looking to be around 65 years old traveling with a female companion, approximately 15 years old. Agents have identified the man as The Doctor, and the girl as his granddaughter who goes by 'Susan.' These fugitives are quite dangerous, and should not be interacted with. If you see something, contact local authorities with information and vacate the area. I repeat, do not attempt to interact with the fugitives._

The Doctor…

The Doctor…

Why did that name sound familiar? And why did it make her hearts beat harder and the knot tighten dramatically? Suddenly she is sure that she will be seeing him today. She can't explain why.

Quickly she shuts off the radio, taking deep calming breaths. The Maker assures herself that she is just being paranoid. This whole thing was just her imagination getting the better of her. Today is just a day like any other. And this is the end of it.

She rides the transit to work, like she does every day.

The name haunts her the whole way.

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor doctor doctor doctor doctor doctor doctor…

The tense excitement in her stomach pulses rhythmically.

Graduation was just a couple years ago – The Maker is 33 years old now, and has found a job she absolutely loves. She grows TARDISes. Not the boring work of constructing the mechanical bits, the outer shells, and the mechanisms of a TARDIS. Her job is to grow and tend to the infant TARDIS consciousness until it is ready to enter an empty TARDIS console, like a hermit crab moving into a shell for the first time. Sometimes it is also her job to take a consciousness out of an old model until either the old shell can be retrofitted or a new type is constructed. The Maker doesn't care for that as much as raising an infant TARDIS, only because sometimes the older ones don't want to leave their homes. But once they are out, oh the stories they have to tell…

Today she actually does have a few old souls, as her supervisor calls them, to pick up from the local garage. Apparently someone even turned in an old Type 40 for retrofitting. A Type 40! She's never even seen one – only heard about them from her co-workers and the occasional old soul feeling talkative about some good old days. A Type 40 is practically obsolete by this point in the technological development, but they were an instant classic in their day. She wonders if she will be able to explore it for a little bit before she has to collect the consciousness…

The Maker works in a building that exists mostly underground. What is above ground is a simple and unassuming building, but what lies beneath is a deep and complex series of tunnels and rooms for the care and storage of the TARDIS minds, reaching down into the Gallifreyan soil hundreds of feet. The original builders were digging down to reach the edge of a huge rift that ran from the core of the planet out towards to surface. Later on, the Time Lords would realize that the Untempered Schism was, in fact, the tip of this rift jutting out from the ground. The original tunnel was made long ago, before the beginning of time travel. To those ancient Gallifreyans, the rift had just seemed like a source of power. In fact, it was so much more.

By sheer luck, these predecessors to the Time Lords had found perhaps the only place in the universe with the right elements to create a TARDIS. Something about the depth of the rift, its proximity to the core of the planet, and the rift itself allowed for the birth of TARDIS consciousness. It does not happen often, but occasionally a bead of light will form on a tunnel wall beside the rift, quickly grow in size, then, when it is about the size of a fist, it would drop off the wall and float in midair, a shimmery entity of time energy.

It is a sight to behold.

At first, the workers didn't know what to do about these strange glowing beings coming from the rift except to try and work around them. They seemed to have very short life spans – if left unattended, they would dissipate within a few days. Eventually, though, someone figured out what they were and how they could be incredibly useful, and the TARDIS minds have been preserved and cared for since then.

The Maker walks into the office, nodding to the security guard, "Morning, Cornelius!" The gruff old coot harrumphs acknowledgement of her greeting, then fluffs the pages of his newspaper and goes back to reading. His reaction makes her smile – despite his best efforts, she is still incredibly fond of the guy.

Entering the elevator, she punches the button for the storage floor. There is a whirring of machinery as she shoots downward, then sideways through the tunnel systems. Despite her speed, it takes a while to reach her destination. The elevator is playing a corny little diddy on repeat, and she groans inwardly. Someone messed with the speakers again – normally the music is pretty good. She tries to block the song from her thoughts, searching for anything at all to think about besides this song. Her thoughts land on that name again. Doctor. Why does it sound so FAMILIAR? Like she's been waiting all her life to hear it? A memory budges in the back of her mind. Wait, wasn't that -? A name ceremony when she was nine years old. He had been one of the graduates. Of course! She breathes a sigh of relief, having solved the mystery. Yes, that must have been it. The memory has been there the whole time, bothering her, and now that she has identified it she can go back to having a normal day. Despite this assurance to herself, the knot in her stomach only tightens, and her inexplicable excitement grows.

There are four glass vessels already set out for her when she arrives to the store room. These are specially crafted containers, designed specifically for storing TARDIS souls until they can find a home in a console. Her supervisor has left her a note taped to the side of one of the large jars, and she reads it:

_Maker,_

_These are for your pick up today. The garage says any time is fine for you to swing by. Their head mechanic Colstof has the info on which units you will be collecting from, in case you forgot._

_\- Matterly_

The Maker looks carefully at the crate the vessels are stored in. The jars themselves are very large, requiring two hands to carry by themselves. She will be carrying four of them, so probably… Yes, there is a small button on one side of the box. She pushes it, and the box lifts into the air, levitating just at her eye level. She smiles "Perfect!"

As she walks back to the elevator, the crate follows like a faithful puppy. Again the crappy music plays, but she tries not to mind it too much. Walking out the office doors, she calls out to Cornelius again, "I'll be back soon!" His disgruntled huff is cut off as the door swings shut behind her, the crate still following closely. It is not far to the garage, so she decides she will just walk the streets and enjoy the beautiful day.

That is difficult, though, as she keeps getting distracted. Every step closer to the garage makes her hearts beat louder in her chest and the tension build in her stomach. Something big is coming, she is sure. The Maker stops in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling to the side as not to block the moderate foot traffic, and forces a few deep breaths down in and out of her lungs.

There is nothing going on today. This is just a normal day, a normal pickup. Nothing life changing is going to happen. All these things she insists to herself, and slowly her body responds, calming down bit by bit. After a few moments, she feels steady enough to continue. The rest of the short journey is uneventful.

Walking in the front door, a large burly man greets her, "You here for the pickup?" She nods, still shaky with excitement. He looks at her more closely, "You alright, miss? You look a little ill."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just been a weird morning, that's all." He nods in a slow, serious way, accepting this explanation and motions her to follow him into the back. Once they enter the big open loading area, he gestures towards four large nondescript cylinders sitting together against one wall, "Those are the ones you want. Had my boys set them out special so you wouldn't be wandering around looking for them for hours."

"Thanks – Colstof, right?"

"Yes, miss."

"Thank you, Colstof. I'll be sure to let you know when I am done." He nods once again, then trudges back to the front room.

The Maker approaches the four TARDISes she has been sent here to claim. From the outside, they are completely identical. But she can tell there are clear differences – they _sound_ different. The way they interact with her mind is different. Each one has a voice, and they are different as Time Lord voices are from one another. She reaches out with her mind to embrace each of them in turn.

The first hails her as a friend, and she smiles. She has tended to this soul before – she is so ancient, and this is not the first time she has come back to the nursery.

"Hello, old friend."

_Hello! Surprised to see me? _The voice in her mind is like an orchestra of mysterious and beautiful instruments. They speak for a few minutes before she opens one of the jars and invites the TARDIS soul inside. She goes willingly, and soon the jar is filled with a glowing yellow light.

The second is being stubborn. He had a long run in this one shell, and he doesn't want to leave now. It takes some time, but she eventually convinces him that he will find a better home after a short stint back in the nursery. He grumbles (honestly, he reminds her of Cornelius) but accepts, entering the vessel with only a small degree of hesitation.

The third will not even speak to the Time Lady. She tries for several minutes with no response. Sighing, she moves on the last TARDIS.

The fourth TARDIS practically jumps out of the console, beyond excited to be leaving this shell far behind. When she asks, he only says that his driver was less than gentle, and The Maker shivers at the reverberations of fear in his consciousness. TARDIS abuse is an ugly thing – rare, but it did happen.

She turns back to the most stubborn of her charges today. And staggers back a step as a flurry of images hits her mind, flickering in and out of existence. Instead of the featureless metal cylinder, she sees a big blue box, and the recognition smacks her over the head like a two by four. A man stands next to the box – one man with so many faces, and somehow they are all familiar. The knot in her stomach explodes, and suddenly she knows why she is here today – why she is in this life at all.

_You will make something big and beautiful, something timeless and unending, but it cannot start without you. It will touch all of the stars in the heavens and save the universe countless times, but it cannot start without you. Today is the day of that creation, Maker. Today you fulfill the promise you made._

An eerie calm settles over her as she the barrage ends. There is a strange peace in knowing your purpose, and knowing exactly how to achieve it. She lays a hand on the outside of the nondescript grey tube, and a voice like wind chimes speaks to her:

_I'm not going._

"I know. You've got a much bigger adventure waiting out there, my friend."

_Why are you like this – so impossible on the inside?_

She laughs, "I don't know. I suppose I will find out some day. I think you will too. Keep an eye out for me, ok?"

_But what do you mean – I'm stuck here!_

"Not for much longer." A clattering behind her warned her that the second half of her mission had just arrived, and she ducked behind the TARDIS, not wanting to frighten him off.

An old man and a young girl hurried across the loading bay towards the four lonely TARDISes. The Maker held back a laugh at her own description of him – he might be physically old, yes, but he was only just beginning. She knew that now. He seemed to pick one at random, ushering his granddaughter into the second unit. No, that was wrong! Couldn't he feel the way HIS TARDIS was reaching out to him, calling him to pilot her across the stars? Immediately she stepped out, calling to him, "Doctor – Doctor!"

He turned to face her, panicking a little but covering it well, "Yes? Yes – what is it? What do you want?"

That knife sharp intelligence is in his eyes again, and the very serious mannerism, but now she knows that someday he will learn to let that go and live a little. She is looking forward to that day.

"Sorry, but you are about to make a very big mistake" The Maker suddenly wonders what on earth she is going to say to convince him. 'My entire purpose in life has been to ensure that you get into the right TARDIS today so you can go on to save the universe for the rest of time in the right vehicle?' It sounded crazy even to herself, despite her absolute certainty of its truth. Then an idea strikes her.

"Don't steal that one, steal this one. The navigation system's knackered, but you'll have much more fun."

Somehow, it works. He believes her, takes the incentive of fun, and goes shooting off into time and space. His TARDIS sings a grateful melody to her until they are gone, and she grins wide, her purpose complete.

Now, what was she going to say to her boss?

**AN: Hi again. This story would not let me be today, so here is a second chapter for the day after far too long without updating. I live for your reviews!**


	6. And Of Destruction

**AN: This chapter gets to one of the meatier concepts I want to cover in this story. Once an echo completes the task she was sent to accomplish, what happens to her? All the ones we know of died – what if that isn't a coincidence?**

The Maker turns away from the empty space where a TARDIS once sat, smiling fit to crack her face open. She did it. She fulfilled her purpose, lived up to her name. She saved the Doctor, as she was always meant to.

It is more than a relief. All of the tension she felt since this morning floods away, and she sighs. Closing her eyes, she just stands, letting her emotions drift down slowly, draining away through her pores. She can practically feel herself unravelling as the stress leaves every muscle in her body.

She's done it.

She isn't needed anymore.

What? Eyes flutter open. Where had that thought come from? Somehow she has ended up on the floor on her knees, but she can't feel the pressure of the ground against her skin. Has she gone numb? She tries to glance around quickly, but her muscles respond slowly, reluctantly, as if there is some loose connection between her body and her mind.

The Maker starts to panic, feeling the fear rush into her mind, but not her body. Instead of increasing, her heartbeats actually begin to slow, and she feels unmistakably drowsy. Is this what dying feels like? She's never regenerated before, so she really doesn't know. If she is dying, shouldn't she start regenerating soon?

Her fingers and toes begin to tingle, and a wave of wooziness washes over her. It's not long before her body sways, then falls face first against the garage floor. Where is her regeneration energy? She knows she should feel it by now.

But she is done.

She is not needed anymore.

She can come home now.

Lips and vocal cords struggle to respond as she screams for help – all that comes out is a muffled groan. What is happening to her! She doesn't understand. Please, someone help!

A warm pressure suddenly appears inside her mind, soothing and tugging gently. The Maker sees a woman in her mind's eye – a woman who is her yet not her. She is not a Time Lord, and The Maker is certain they have never met, but she is identical to herself. The Maker gets the distinct sensation that she is or was or will be this woman.

The woman speaks in her mind. -_You've done what you came here to do. Now it is time to leave._

_But I don't understand. What is happening to me?_

_-You are ending, and must return to the whole. You must let go and come back to me._

For the first time, The Maker notices that the woman seems to be missing pieces of herself – blank spaces like a cluster of pixels were ripped from her image. _I come from you? How is that possible?_

_-I jumped into a shiny glowy thing, and now I'm scattered across time and space._

_Why would you do that?! That's reckless, childish, and irresponsible! You are changing the whole of reality!_

_-That sounds exactly like something the Doctor would say. Is that just a Time Lord thing? Don't panic. Someone else jumped in first, and the changes he made wiped out whole galaxies. I'm just trying to clean up. This was the first step – thank you._

The Maker feels a shudder run through her body, and groans feebly. _That doesn't explain what is happening to me. Why do I have to leave? _

The tingling in her fingertips has spread to her entire hand and palm, and she forces her eyelids up. It feels like they are made of lead, but at last she opens her eyes. She can see her left hand clearly from the way she fell, and the sight does nothing to calm her. It has begun to glow – not the reassuring gold light of regeneration, but a crimson glow that throws off sparks of energy in brilliant shades of orange, yellow, and blue. With horror, she sees that as the light comes off, her hand seems to just… vanish. She can't feel those fingers anymore. Fresh panic seeps into her mind. _What is happening to me!_

_-The recipe is running out. The template for your physical existence only goes so far. I'm afraid you don't have much time left. You need to let go._

She feels that warm presence tugging at her mind, pulling her consciousness away from her body.

_No! I – I don't want to!_

_-You must. Os, you must._

Os. That name that she hadn't heard in years. Her true name.

_How did you know my name?_

_-You know how. I know you as you know me. We are one and the same. Now you must trust me, Os. Maker, you have to trust this. _

By now her entire hand had disappeared, and the vanishing act had spread to her arm, her entire body tingling like a thousand tiny blades scratching across her skin.

_-We are running out of time. You have to let go!_

_I'm scared. I feel like I'm dying, and I don't want to._

_-I know. No one wants to die. And I can't even promise everything will be alright. Only that if you let go, there is a chance. Stay, and you will be lost. Now, please… _That gentle tugging again, more insistent this time as she watched her elbow disappear entirely in a shower of bright green sparks.

_-Let go, Os. Let go… Come back to me…_

The tugging grew and grew and grew and The Maker – Os – wanted desperately to hang on, to cling to her rapidly disappearing body, but… slowly… she began… to… slip –

She is above herself now, floating. Floating. Hanging in air. Her body lies on the garage floor below her, dissipating into light and sparks. She watches as her upper arms and thighs fade out like a bad movie effect. It is surreal, but the panic she had felt only moments before is gone. Only the soft pulling remains, and a familiar stranger's voice beckoning her to come home. Os lets herself be led away by the sensation. Floating, floating, floating up and away until suddenly she is falling, falling, FALLING through time and space and she doesn't know where she is. Her thoughts begin to blur into a babbling mantra of confused fear.

_ ...please, I don't know where I am, can someone help me! I don't know where I am. I told the Doctor to remember me, but I have told him so many times, I think he must have forgotten again. Please, I don't know where I am, I don't know where I am, I don't know -_

_And why can I smell something burning?_


End file.
